Susanna GREGORY - Death of a Scholar

‘Not so.’ Michael smirked. ‘I used Weasenham’s penchant for gossip to say that the essay was not by William at all, but by Bon. The Dominicans have apologised for thinking badly of us, and we are friends again. The matter is closed.’

‘Thank God! I like the Dominicans, and do not want them to be enemies.’

Michael nodded at the letter. ‘This contains a lot of claptrap about love, and how Julitta thinks Michaelhouse’s disgrace would have been good for you. In her eyes, the University is holding you back from reaching your full potential as a physician.’

Bartholomew grimaced. ‘She would not think that if she knew what I did to Hemmysby and the others in the name of justice – with the Senior Proctor’s connivance.’

‘Yes, – thank heavens you did not confide that little secret! Of course, the business with the tract was your fault. If you had not taught her to read, she would never have known that it was something worth stealing.’

‘Holm probably wishes she had stayed illiterate, too,’ said Bartholomew wryly. ‘It was because of her skill with letters that she found the loophole in her father’s will – the one that allows her to control the marital finances. I doubt he would stay with her if the money was his.’

‘No,’ agreed Michael, not mentioning that a letter informing the surgeon that Julitta had made a mistake in her interpretation was already on its way to Paris. It was revenge of sorts, as Holm would certainly act on it. ‘You do know she was only pretending to be stunned when you hit her? She sat up very quickly when you announced an intention to stay. She wanted you gone, so she could escape. She knew Bon’s plans were falling apart, and that flight was the only option.’

‘Founding a College should be a noble feat, yet so much evil has come from it – Felbrigge shot; Elvesmere, Knyt and Hemmysby poisoned with dormirella ; Ratclyf given medicine that stopped his weak heart; relations damaged between University and town, perhaps irreparably; Illesy, de Stannell, Eyer and Potmoor killed at Winwick Hall…’

‘Along with Goodwyn, who was looting when it collapsed. He was paid to insinuate himself into Michaelhouse, you know. Or rather, he was told that if he enrolled, he would be rewarded ten times what he forked out in fees. The same happened in other Colleges, where young men had a remit to cause trouble, learn our secrets and spread discontent.’

‘Who told you that, Brother?’

‘Documents in Bon’s room. Richard was not the only one recruited to bring friends here – at least another dozen men did likewise. Losing his sight has turned Bon bitter and vengeful, because he thinks it encourages people to undervalue his intellect – which caused him to be overly devoted to the one College that was willing to accept him.’

‘He is wrong to blame our low opinion on his hypochyma. The truth is that he is just not a very good scholar, as evidenced by his dismal performance in two debates.’

‘Yes,’ sighed Michael. ‘And it is a pity he escaped.’

‘You still have not found him?’

‘Not yet. I shall send his description to all four corners of the kingdom and he will not stay free for long. He cannot – until he is caught, I dare not eat gifts of cakes, lest they are poisoned.’

‘A fine reason for wanting to snare a killer,’ said Bartholomew, although the remark made him smile. Then he became sombre again. ‘Marjory Starre said there would be a fierce gale, and that a good man would die. She was right.’

‘She was not,’ countered Michael. ‘No one who died on Tuesday was good , and there are often strong winds in October. There was nothing magical about her prediction.’

‘What about Potmoor? He was innocent of the burglaries, and after his resurr– after his bout of catalepsia, he did try to make amends for his past.’

‘It was too little, too late. Moreover, we might have solved the case a lot sooner if he had confessed to his affair with Olivia Knyt. Is she better, by the way? I heard you were called out to tend her last night.’

Bartholomew nodded, but said no more. Olivia’s first reaction on discovering that she was carrying her lover’s child had been to dose herself with bryony root and get rid of it, but then she had changed her mind. Unfortunately, the herb was still going about its business, and it had taken the combined skill of two midwives, Marjory Starre and Bartholomew himself, to reverse the process.

‘Then we could have stopped assuming that Potmoor was guilty of the burglaries,’ Michael went on when there was no reply. ‘And looked for the real culprit.’

‘Who was the real culprit? The minions Potmoor no longer needed after his brush with death, as de Stannell claimed?’

Michael nodded. ‘They stole a veritable fortune, although Bon’s records reveal that de Stannell kept a lot for himself. Doubtless Bon would have poisoned him in time. And Uyten, whom I interviewed at length last night. He is stunned to learn that his master was Bon, not Illesy. He really is a fool. As if the likes of him would ever be made a University Fellow!’

‘What will happen to him?’

‘He will face trial, but will claim benefit of clergy, so will probably be exiled.’

Bartholomew sighed. ‘No wonder this case was so difficult to solve. Bon had a grand plan, but all his helpmeets were in it for themselves.’

‘For money,’ nodded Michael. ‘Like Eyer. Or for prestige, like Uyten. Or for both, like Holm, Julitta and de Stannell – who rashly expected the College to be renamed after him.’

Bartholomew nodded to where John Winwick was talking to the Sheriff. ‘He is unwilling to concede defeat, and wants to try again.’

‘Yes. I have suggested he does it in Oxford.’

Bartholomew laughed.

‘I am serious. They pride themselves on their adaptability, so they can accommodate his impatience. However, we at Cambridge are unsuited to hurried decisions.’

‘Yet some good came out of all this. I learned that no one murdered Oswald, and Richard proved himself to be decent in the end.’

‘There is hope for him, I suppose. He goes home older and wiser, especially about his sire.’ Michael sniggered suddenly. ‘Did you know that Thelnetham wants to be reinstated at Michaelhouse? Langelee has refused, so our conclave will be a haven of peace once more.’

‘William will be pleased.’

‘There is something else that is good, too. We have discovered a new weapon in our battle against killers – dissection.’

‘Oh, no! My conscience will not let me do that again.’

‘Yes, it will,’ countered Michael. ‘Several bodies have been recovered from Winwick’s ruins, and we need to be sure that they are crushed looters, not hapless souls poisoned by Bon. There is a great deal of work for you once this ceremony is over.’

Bartholomew’s reply was drowned out by the choir, beginning the jubilant anthem that marked the end of the ceremony, but this time Michael made no effort to quieten them. He shrugged and pointed to his ears when the physician tried to make himself heard, then turned towards his singers with a complacent smile. He could not have timed their interruption better himself.

Bon had not fled when Winwick Hall and all his dreams had collapsed. He had hidden in the rubble, feeling anger burn within him. He would repay those who had thwarted his plans, and when they were dead he would rebuild his College better, bigger and stronger than ever. He was there now, listening to the choir bellow the closing anthem. He pushed the din from his mind, and thought about the task that lay ahead.

He did not need good eyesight to tell him that the hall was past saving, and that the tottering remains would have to be demolished in order to start afresh. He would not make the same mistakes again, though. His new College would be raised slowly and painstakingly, and it would stand for centuries, outlasting Peterhouse, Gonville, Clare, Trinity Hall and all the other foundations that had called it an upstart.